Fireworks (Like Falling Stars)
by Fayre Amore
Summary: "This, he realized, was what humanity was about. Love, loss, pain, sorrow... and hope. Humanity lived on hope, thrived on it. It kept them going, gave them a reason to get up every morning, a reason to evolve and grow and discover. That was what the angels had lacked, he thought to himself. They had no hope- no reason to, no ability to. Castiel had hope."


Castiel had wondered about humanity for a very long time before he met the Winchesters. He'd watch the little humans going by in their little cars in their little cities, and wonder what about these odd little creatures seemed so... _large_, to him. Why he found them so fascinating.

He knew how his siblings felt about them. Indifference, at best. Most often they were a nuisance, like little ants skittering around, waiting to be stepped on. Lucifer had even hated them.

But not Castiel.

He was drawn to the way they felt things so overwhelmingly, especially for such small, seemingly insignificant beings. Love, anguish, hate, joy- it all seemed so foreign to him. How could they feel things so much more strongly than him, when he was the so-called advanced species? How could these emotions be a weakness when they had inspired the people on earth to accomplish so much? In the deepest part of himself, sometimes Castiel looked at all the ways the angels had not advanced, and all the ways the humans had, and thought that maybe angels had a thing or two to learn from these "little ants".

His fascination only grew as the centuries passed. Of course angels could feel emotions-but they were muted, quiet, only there enough so that they were not total machines. Castiel found himself wanting to understand human emotions, even to feel them himself. He never, of course, confessed these desires to any of his brothers or sisters- but they were there all the same.

Castiel was falling long before he ever met Dean or Sam.

* * *

Love, though. Love was one emotion Castiel thought he understood. He felt it for his Father, of course, and for his many brothers and sisters. He knew love- he thought.

It wasn't until after he well and truly fell and was cut off from heaven that he understood how mistaken he'd been. Real love, he began to understand, could not be forced. It could not be programmed into a person- the way it had been for him towards his siblings in heaven.

Watching Dean and Sam, he startled himself by thinking of _them_ as his family, subconsciously claiming them as his brothers. And it was different than what he had-and still- felt toward his siblings and Father (he couldn't hurt this much if he didn't still love them) because this wasn't forced on him. He'd _chosen_ to love the Winchesters.

It wasn't until years and years later that he realized he'd stopped wondering about human emotions. His fascination had tapered off, leaving him with... understanding. He got it, finally, what being human meant.

* * *

Being an angel did have its perks. For example, when Castiel decided to rebuild Bobby's house in the middle of the old salvage yard, after the war had finally ended (_it's over, _he kept telling himself, unable to fully believe it, _really over), _he managed to get the details down to an almost scary accuracy. To the chip on the table leg from when a four-year old Sam had thrown a tantrum because he didn't understand why they couldn't have a puppy, and kicked it. (Of course, Bobby got a puppy "for himself" that next Christmas, and for little Sammy it was love at first bark.) To the barely-there markings on an upstairs bedroom wall that had once belonged to Dean, from when he was six and had tried to replicate the symbols he had seen his father draw because it was too dark and he was afraid he wouldn't be able to see if something came for Sammy. Castiel had even made sure to add the burn marks on top of the stove, from when a seven-year old Sam had tried to make soup for a flu-ridden Dean, because Dean always took care of him and he thought that maybe he should return the favor. (The soup had been burnt and tasted oddly of sugar, even though it came from a can, but Dean had eaten it anyways because it was more than worth the proud, beaming smile on his little brothers face as he assured him the soup was delicious. He even managed to wait until Sammy fell asleep to throw it back up.)

There were forgotten army men under the couch, cans of spaghettios in the pantry because those were Sam's favorite (unless he wanted Lucky Charms, and that was stocked up too), mismatched curtains because Bobby couldn't be bothered, old Latin and spell books mixed in with Dr. Seuss, and even an old picture of Mary and her boys that had taken months to find sitting in John's old room, when he had bothered to stay there.

It took almost a year to get it just right, but Castiel rebuilt Bobby's house from the ground up; the only real, stationary home the brothers had ever known.

Afterwards, he sat on the front porch, rocking gently back forth, and looked contentedly at the other two, empty, rocking chairs being pushed gently in the wind. This, he realized, was what humanity was about. Love, loss, pain, sorrow... and hope. Humanity lived on hope, thrived on it. It kept them going, gave them a reason to get up every morning, a reason to evolve and grow and discover.

That was what the angels had lacked, he thought to himself. They had no hope- no reason to, no ability to.

Castiel had hope.

* * *

**Here lies Sam and Dean Winchester: heroes the world never knew.**

* * *

_A boy with dark, floppy hair holds a box of fireworks in his arms, lugging them through the dark forest while periodically glancing back to make sure his older brother __is__ still following close behind. He __isn't__ afraid of the dark, not even what could be in it- not if his brother __is__ there. _

_Finally coming to the clearing they'd scoped out the day before, he sets down the heavy __box and turns to his brother. "Got your lighter?" He asks, masking his excitement with cool almost- suavenes__s._

_He lights the fireworks under the watchful eye of his brother before racing backwards, out of the range of fire. Sparks of bright light rain down around them, somehow just missing hitting them. They watch quietly for a minute, eyes wide and awestruck even after all that they had seen and lived through, they can't help the innocence that steals over them__.__The older boy lets out a small euphoric laugh and smiles down at his brother, before looking back up at the sky. _This_, he thinks in the deepest part of himself, the part left still untainted by death and knowledge of what lives in the dark, _this could be heaven_._

_ The floppy-haired kid throws caution to the wind and runs out underneath the raining sparks of light, thinking for a moment that they look kind of like falling stars, and wishes that this night would never end. _

_His older brother watches on, a small smile lighting his face, and somehow knows that it never will._

* * *

**A/N** **Thank you so much to my wonderful, fabulous, gorgeous, inspiring (too much?) best friend: Beloved Perfection! She was a big help in writing this story, specifically in that car ride home where we both ended up in tears coming up with this idea together. Honestly, this story is both of ours, I just happened to be the one to physically write it :)  
**

**And in case it was too ambiguous, this is set years after where we are in the actual show, after everything is finished, and Sam and Dean have died and are in heaven (for good. Probably).**


End file.
